


cassandra.

by Onyxior



Category: The Bastards Crew
Genre: Gen, Mechanisms inspired 'verse, Mentions of Ulysses Dies At Dawn, Other, bishop not yet fucking the ship but give him 20 years, canon typical petty murder, descriptions of a wartorn planet, oh i need to write that slowburn now fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 05:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19166416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onyxior/pseuds/Onyxior
Summary: Sometimes the start of a found family is an explosion auntie, a bad doctor and and broken AI.This is how they meet the broken AI.





	cassandra.

Imagine, if you would, a ship. Not just any ship, not some small cruiser that can barely fit four pilots or a frigate that could punch a hole through a planet, but a ship. Respectable, rooms for 12 or so folks, and rooms designed for battle and comfort alike. Armed to the teeth inside and out. A military vessel for high ranking officers and war heroes. The kind of ship that gleams and that little kids dream of riding in, or bringing down. This is one of ships, shot to fucking scrap. What remains of the engine had been keeping it hovering, about the planet, looking for a single life sign to take someone home, not there are any someones or homes left. The engine flickers, and cuts out.

There isn't much of this planet left. It was a battlefield torn to shreds by some king or god or another. There is money to be had in the remains of tech and weaponry that lay here and Tarsa is here for just that. A rucksack, filled to burst upon their shoulder cuts cruelly into their flesh when they see their partner in crime kicking their shuttle next to his similarly full bag.

“Gotta good haul?” Tarsa starts, and Bishop stares angrily.

“Doesn’t matter, shuttles dead.” He kicks one of the engines for good measure. “Hunk of scrap.”

Tarsa looks about the fragmented battlefield, which they have almost picked clean of anything useful.

“You sure? You’re a mechanic, can’t you fix it?” At this, Bishop makes a face.

“I had to shoot the engines fuel line to keep it from blowing our score.”

“At least you had some sense about it.”

Bishop shoots a look at Tarsa, and then shoot the ship again, for good measure.

“Well, got any bright ideas to get out of this one? I would rather not stay on this planet for a millenia til someone notices we’re here.”

“Pessimist!” Tarsa scoffs, “I could build us a dinghy to get of this scrap heap in less than a year.”

They are both suddenly, acutely aware of the whistle of a large thing dropping very quickly. Bishop knows better than to waste time looking up. He grabs his score, and Tarsas’, while Tarsa snags a repair kit from the side of the shuttle and they _run._

When the thing finally drops, they are far enough away to only see the resulting explosion, their shuttle now well and truly scrap.

“Scratch that, two years to build a dinghy. I needed that shuttle.”

“Told you.” There is the sound of a distant pistol shot and a body hitting the ground.

“Asshole.” Tarsa begins walking back to the remains of the shuttle.

The thing that ruined everything, as Tarsa has already mentally dubbed it, looks odd. It's not a orbit bomb, and it’s not some sky junk or hunk of floating city come crashing down its--

“Oh, fucking _dibs._ ”

Tarsa runs the remaining distance to this ship which survived the impact quite admirably and appeared to be ...dissolving the scrap around it?

“Oh you are a beauty! A Sentrinal, I forgot you lot came from this era!” Tarsa dove inside a hole in the ship as it repaired its hull damage.

The inside of the ship was not repairing, no ship had that capability lest they wanted the people inside thrust out for being wasteful to the system. Setrinals repaired hull damage, and were wonderfully smart ships.

“Hello? AI?~” Tarsa sang into the ship. There were a few bodies lying here and there, what was left of the crew, all dead of vacuum exposure. Tarsa didn't bother stepping over them. “Looks like you didn't fix the hull in time for these poor sods. Nice try though!”

The AI center doesn't gleam. It leaks, a wretched rotting smell with water and ethyl and god knows what else. Cracked, the vials that contain an Acheron fragment, with a few shards of glass sticking out here and there. Good. Tarsa loves a project.

It’s only about five minutes of work, removing glass frags, and sealing up vials and giving the generator a good kick before Bishop bangs on the side of the ship.

“You bloody bastard! You left me there, and you got your hands on this haul and this is unfair! Let me in so we can duel like gentlefolks!” The shouting is muffled by tungsten steel walls, but Tarsa presses the manual entrance and watches him fall in.

“Hullo Bishop. Like my ship?”

“It crushed. My. Shuttle.”

“Which wasn’t working anyways. Relax.” Tarsa gestures to the interior of the ship, well lit, but no less bloody. “Whatcha think?”

“I’ve got work, haven't I?” Bishop sounds deflated. He's good at tech, but its not his first love.

“You better believe it! The AI is fucked to shit though, I'll letcha know when it’s online.”

Bishop sighs and heads towards the engine slouching. He’s happy about the turn of events, just grumpy he can't be grumpy.

The AI is a different matter. Electric shock, command lines, nothing is getting it to start. Tarsa talks sweet to it, they way they talk to all the bots they make, but it's not until Bishop walks in, stunned at the complexity of the machine that the AI shutters to life.

_Goodbye, it was terrible seeing you, i know you, and where you came from._

It’s not a soft voice. It grates on the ears. Tarsa tries to fix it, and begins furiously typing.

_Please stop that, i love my voice._

Tarsa stops, and removes their hands from the keyboard.

_You started. Hes Awful, You’re awful. My voice my words are right this is happening always happening i am not broken._

The voice sounds like crying now.

“Are you lying?” Bishop sounds shocked, after all, AI’s cannot lie.

_No no no no no i always say the right thing and am saying the right thing i know why this is happening you cannot tell me why this is happening do not help me_

The voice is definitely crying now. Bishop and Tarsa feel bad for it, despite their better judgement.

“You’re an OAI, organic artificial intelligence. Is that right?”

_No_

Bishop thinks for a moment.

“Am I wearing a skirt right now?”

_Yes._

He isn’t.

“Tarsa, I think… I think it only lies.”

“I think you’re right.”

_You are both completely wrong._

The tone is happy.

“You got a name?” Bishop smiles.

_Yes._

Tarsa grins. “We can fix that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> IN THIS HOUSE WE LOVE AND SUPPORT CASS.  
> Ok, I have two new Bastards stories to write, the heist and the Bishop slowburn. ~~_maybe i could get amelia to write it..._~~  
>  so those will be up.... whenever.  
> at some point.  
> see you next time  
> -Bert


End file.
